PS 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERKA. 



TEN SONNETS 

AND OTHER VERSES 



TEN SONNETS 

AND OTHER VERSES 

BY / 

MARGARETTE A. HOARD 
PrinteU for Pritjatc Circulation 







NEW YORK: ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH AND 
COMPANY (INCORPORATED), 182 FIFTH AVENUE 



^^ 



^^ 



95 ^^'X 



Copyriirfit, 1S94, 
Bv Anson D. F. Randolph & Company 

(iN'CORPORATED) 



Saniijasitg press: 
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Sunrise 9 

Eclipse lo 

The Compass ii 

Law and Lawgiver 12 

Unanswered 13 

PicciOLA 14 

Mater Dolorosa 15 

St. Martin's Summer 16 

Motherhood 17 

GOOD-Nl-GHT . . , 18 

5 



Page 

Dumb Singers , . 21 

A May-Flower 24 

Asleep 26 

Chiaroscuro 29 

New Year's Gifts a . . . ., 32 

In Memoriam . -34 

Finis 36 

6 



TEN SONNETS. 



I. 

SUNRISE. 

'T^HE pearly fringes of the eastern sky 
Redden to rubies at his touch, afar, 
Who opes the world's shut doors. At his bright 
eyej 

Abashed, Night's Queen hastens her silver car, 

And draweth after her each paling star. 

Lost in effulgence lesser glories are, 
When, in the splendor of his majesty, 
Day's monarch takes his glorious throne on high. 

So rose on earth with all-absorbing blaze 
The '* Sun of Righteousness." Man, who had trod 

With awful wonder Nature's mystic ways, 

Sees all her lights lost in diviner rays; 

Nor more he sings his *' Vedas " to her praise, 
Nor rears his altars to an " Unknown God." 

9 



II. 

ECLIPSE. 



T3ETWEEN men's eyes and yonder steadfast 



sun 



A meaner presence oft doth interfere, — 
A stealthy shadow, creeping first upon 

The outer margin of his perfect sphere, 

Breaking the form while still the light is clear; 
Yet, once the baleful work hath been begun. 
Erelong encroaching darkness doth o'errun 

Yon golden disk, till day is turned to night. 
Calmly we wait its passing, with no doubt 

Which shall prevail, shadow or living light ; 

Nor do we fear, while hidden from our sight 
The glorious sun hath been quite blotted out: 

So Truth, obscured by things of transient might, 

Shines brightly on, in unbeliefs despite. 



III. 

THE COMPASS. 

TT 7HEN the worn mariner, at close of day, 

Sees his frail bark drive o'er the ocean wide 

At mercy of the wind, some unknown tide 
Seeming to bear it from true course away. 

How shall he hope the ship to safely guide? 
Piled in the west, the angry clouds array 

Their sombre, threatening masses, canopied 
With gloom, through which no starlight makes its 

way. 
Ah ! yonder is his guide ! The lamp's red ray 
Falls on a finger that still points aright 

True to her polar star, whate'er betide ! 
By this he steers, and ere the morning light 

Doth gain the haven where he fain would be. 

Soul, tempest-tossed, Faith is such guide for 
thee ! 



IV. 

LAW AND LAWGIVER. 

TF Nature's order only means to me 

Blind force, to keep contending powers from 
wrack ; 

If, pondering her resistless laws, I lack 
The firm belief in God which bids me see 

His powerful hand, holding in ordained track 
Each circling sphere of yon immensity, — 

'Twere best if all my wasted years rolled back 
To the blest moment at my mother's knee, 

When stars to me were angels' eyes, that watch 
Above my little pillow nightly kept. 
And when the weak " Our Father," ere I slept, 

I doubted not God's bending ear would catch : 
Man's utmost reach of knowledge nothing hath 
To give me in exchange for childlike faith. 

12 



V. 

UNANSWERED. 

'T^HIS mystery of Life, whose current warm 
^ Fills all my veins, philosophers engage 

To trace for me back to remotest age, — 
First, vital atom of the simplest form. 

Delivered unto elemental rage ; 
Now purged by fire, now drenched by primal 
storm. 

Anon of frame complex the heritage ; 

Still upward tending, till its highest stage 
Informs this body, where I feel it glow. 

Yet when I ask them whence the other me, 

Not subject to my body's tyranny. 
Supreme o'er higher realms of joy and woe, 
There is no answer. They have said the whole, 
And found no reason for my God-breathed soul. 

13 



VI. 

PICCIOLA. 

A S the poor plant, springing from prison-blight 
And nourished on the bosom of decay, 

Stretched all her branches out to where the light 
Shot in between the bars a struggling ray. 
Till, crowned and recompensed, she bore one day 

A fragrant blossom of the purest white ; 
So thou, my soul ! fast rooted in the clay. 

Behind Earth's prison-bars, where Error's night 
Hides the full sunlight of the Truth Divine, 
If through the darkness but one ray doth shine, 

One feeble reflex of the Light Supreme, 

Reach out thy longing tendrils to that beam. 
And, waked to life by its transforming power. 
Thy barren stalk may boast a heavenly flower. 
14 



VII. 
MATER DOLOROSA. 

l\/f OTHER of sorrows! wounded through thy 
son, — 
No way so sure to find the mother-heart, — 
Thy breast must bleed from tJp same cruel dart 

Which in the bosom of the '* Sinless One " 

Set its rude barb. From his pierced side runs down 

No crimson drop, but faithful counterpart 
It takes in ruddy life-blood from thine own, 
And thy fair forehead feels his thorny crown. 

Yet, even so, methinks such grief-filled eye 
Should not o'erflow upon such pallid cheek, 
Nor should such bloodless, parted lips bespeak 

The long-drawn sigh of hopeless agony. 

These best befit the mothers who must feel 

Thy pangs for sons whose own hands drive the 
steel. 

^5 



VIII. 

ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. 

ARTIN, a saint of blessed memory, 

Went forth too thinly for November clad, 
Yet, alms being asked, his sword, with motion free, 
Cut the poor cloak in two. Ungrudgingly 

A part he gave the beggar, and was glad 

To give a needier brother half he had. 
Nature, observant of the generous deed, 
Tempered her season to the saintly need. 

Calling the summer back to her embrace. 
She sent across the dull November showers 

Sweet recollections of June's sunny grace, 
Hint of blue sky, and breath of vanished flowers, — 
" St. Martin's Summer," — Nature's gentle speech. 
The blessedness of charity to teach, 

Martinmas, November ii. 

i6 



IX. 

MOTHERHOOD. 

A MYSTICAL compound of joy and sorrow, 
'^^ A night of anguish, of unbounded pain. 

Then dawn of untold happiness again : 
For precious gift hath blessed the painless morrow. 

And by the mother's side there hath been lain 
A wondrous being, from whom stars might borrow 

Immortal light, a soul that will remain 
When stars have set, and so instinct the whole 
With God, who breathed upon that new-made soul, 
The trembling mother feels her joy a pain, 
Remembering He claims His own again; 
With close embrace, to her fond breast doth strain 
The tiny form, like that God's Son did take 
When born of woman for a lost world's sake. 

17 



L 



X. 

GOOD-NIGHT. 
OVE, if on mine those faithful lips might lay 



A dying kiss, to meet my dying breath ; 
If the fond arms encircling me to-day, 
Still closely wrapped about my senseless clay, 

Might keep their tender clasp, in spite of Death ; 

And if the kindly grave would so bequeath 
Unto my dreamless head, pillow alway 

On the true heart now throbbing underneath. 
Till from our mingled dust some future May 
Might pluck her Easter-crown of lilies white, — 
Then the '' pale King," robbed of his worst affright. 
Were welcome though his summons came to- 
night ; 

For oh, a blessed messenger were he 

Who set this hour to eternity ! 



VERSES. 



DUMB SINGERS. 

1\ T Y pretty thrush flies to the highest perch 
^ ^ Of his small prison. As he flutters there, 
He turns his eager head, as if to search 

Expression rare 
Enough to fit his thought,— holding the note 
Already captive in his swelling throat, 
Waiting in liquid melody to float 

Upon the listening air. 

But though his willing soul be all aglow 

To send abroad its tuneful ecstasy, 
His utmost efl"ort falls far, far below 
Expectancy ; 



And one poor strain, all tremulous and sweet, 
From morn to morn, he doth in hope repeat, — 
Song's distant echo, broken, incomplete, 
His best of minstrelsy. 

My poor " dumb singer " ! We are both denied 

Free utterance of the melodies we hear 
So plainly in our souls. When we have tried 

To sing them clear, 
That listening sorrow might forget its pain. 
Our best endeavor caught but a refrain 
Of the far grander music of the strain 

Blessing the inward ear. 

If thou couldst pass the door which bounds thy 

world, 
Would thy freed body set thy spirit free? 
And as thine unused wings were straight unfurled 
Would melody 

22 



Ring downward, from thy flight toward heaven's 

blue dome? 
Ah ! for us both, perhaps, such day may come, 
And our imprisoned song, no longer dumb, 
Break from captivity. 

23 



A MAY-FLOWER. 

/^ HAPPY Earth, bright May on tiptoe steals 
^^^ To lay her flower-crowned head upon thy 

breast ! 
Her soft embrace thy frozen bosom feels, 

And her shy kisses break thy wintry rest; 
Thy waking woods with merry voices ring, 

While eager hands thrust mould and leaves away, 
And from the friendly shade triumphant bring 

The trailing pink-white harbingers of May. 

No need have I dead leaves on thy cold breast 
To part, and seek Arbutus blossoms small. 

For on my own I hold a daintier guest, 
The very sweetest May-flower of them all ! 

24 



And my full heart this precious gift receives 
With trembling joy, that touches close on pain, 

Lest the celestial beauty of its leaves 

Tempt Heaven to call the blossom home again. 

All springtime sweets these happy arms enfold : 

Cheeks that have caught the apple-blossom's 
hue, 
Hair that has learned the crocus' shining gold. 

And eyes the violets have steeped in blue. 
Sure never dawned a May-day so divine. 

Never did Nature with such gladness ring! 
Dear Mother Earth, my thankful heart, like thine. 

Forgets its winter in the joy of spring. 

25 



M 



ASLEEP. 

Y baby sleeps. 

Through the long, dreadful night, 
While her cries smote upon our shrinking ears, 
In agony I prayed that morning light 
Might bring her rest. She has it. O my tears ! 
Well may your bitter, falling floods attest 
I had no thought to crave this perfect rest 
For her who sleeps. 

Turn back the sheet ! 
O darling baby- face! 
Each polished temple shaded by one curl 
Of flossy gold. How could such angel grace 
26 



Be merely mortal? Hush, poor heart! A girl 
Would be a woman ; and we mothers know 
How o.ft that name 's synonymous with woe. 
'T is best she sleeps. 

How can I tell 
But that in coming years 
There might have touched this flower at my side 
Some blighting breath; when even my bitterest 
tears 
Could only fall to know it had not died, 
Sweet blossom ! and been bound up in the dear 

Lord's sheaves, 
Heaven's morning dew still fresh upon its leaves, 
Like this that sleeps. 

God's ways are best. 
Here by the little bed 
Where she now lies, on whom His seal is set, 
I, who *' was once a mother," o'er my dead 

27 



As o'er my new-born babe, may bless Him yet! 
He saw the future hidden from my eyes, 
And with a love all-tender and all-wise. 
Sent her this sleep. 

28 



CHIAROSCURO. 
IN THE GARDEN. 

*' QISTER," I said, "summer's brightness is over; 
^ No longer our garden love's story repeats ; 
No more doth the lily's gay humming-bird lover 
Here bend his bright head to her bosom of 
sweets. 
A change hath befallen the colorings tender ; 
The greens have grown lifeless, the crimsons 
look dun. 
"Nay," she cried, " 't is the dawn of the autumn's 
full splendor. 
You stand in the shadow; come out in the sun." 
29 



Where the sun's broadest ray could not but find 
her, 

Bringing out boldly each grace of her form, 
Stood my fair sister; the soft hair behind her 

Streaming in lines of gold, ruddy and warm. 
Marvels of light touched those tresses unheeded ; 

They and the sunshine already were one. 
Better to burnish the brown locks that needed, 

Steeped in the shadow, as hers in the sun. 

Standing thus, all Nature's best with her blending, 

Beauty she borrowed, and beauty she gave. 
Suddenly down the broad walk toward us tending, 

Came the firm step I should know in my grave. 
Aye ! and she knew it. Why else, rosy sister, 

Should those shy glances my questioning shun? 
She said, if she blushed, 't was that Phoebus had 
kissed her; 

For I was in shadow, she full in the sun. 
30 



She for light; I for shadow. I should have be- 
lieved her, 
And spared my sick heart all its passionate 
strife, 
When the arms I had thought my own shelter 
received her, 
And the sunshine I missed warmed and bright- 
ened her life. 
Thank Heaven ! she never has guessed of my 
sorrow, 
Nor dreamed of my loss in the prize that she 
won; 
And so from the joy of her days I may borrow, 
Content in my shadow, since she has the sun. 

31 



NEW YEAR'S GIFTS. 

'T^IME on a winter morning sought my door. 
^ " Open," he cried, '' and tell me what shall be 

The friendly gift of my New Year to thee? 
Choose at thy will from the unbroken store." 

" Ah ! Time," I said, " thy power and kind intent 
Not always match, else had thy last gift brought 
Less disappointment, and less pain been wrought 

By what, in asking, seemed so innocent. 

" Keep not thy New Year waiting to unfold 
Deceptive treasures, as she hath of yore, 
Since thou, alas! can nevermore restore 

Youth's glamoured eyes, to take her dross for gold. 

32 



" Pass on, old friend ! There is no wish I dare, 
Lest Hstening Heaven to my choice should yield. 
And, like the Roman maid 'neath Sabine shield, 

I die of answer to my special prayer. 

33 



IN MEMORIAM. 

N. M. H. 

/^H, weeping friends, were ours the task 
^"^^ God's best for her to crave, 
What is the blessing we could ask 
So rich as that He gave? 

Called ere the evil days drew nigh, 

Followed by nights of pain, 
When the worn soul impatiently 

Drags at its mortal chain ; 

Called while her ready feet were bent 

On Mercy's heavenly ways. 
While still her lamp of service sent 

Far on the dark its rays ; 
34 



Called from a world of pain to know- 
Rapture of souls forgiven; 

Called from the Master's work below 
To His " Well done" in heaven. 

35 



FINIS. 

T7RIEND, who believest this poor Hfe is all, 
What word of comfort is there left to say? 
Look on thy dead till Nature's swift decay 
Doth work dread changes in the lovely clay, 
Then cover closely with the kindly pall, 

Since mortal elements composed the whole, 
And only perishable powers combined 
To form the steadfast heart and noble mind, 
Since the fair body never has enshrined 

A better something, which we called her soul. 

The golden door of Hope for thee hath closed. 
Shutting thee in to Sorrow's rayless night ; 
Between thine eyes and heaven's refulgent light, 

36 



Death, working so his bitterest despite, 
A cruel hand hath darkly interposed. 

Must mighty Love within the grave abide 
When his fair ruined temple enters there? 
Was her last sigh, that bore thy name in prayer, 
Only a mortal breath on empty air? 

Ah ! had the Lord been there, she had not died ! 

He only can command the stone away 
Before our sepulchres ; 't is He who saith, 
" She is not dead, but sleeping," — giving faith 
Such full and glorious victory o'er Death 

As gilds grief's night with dawn of endless day. 

37 



